When Two Different Worlds Collide
by BountyHunterGirl134
Summary: AU Post- Prince Caspian & current HBP. When Hermione accidentally stumbles through a very odd wardrobe, she finds herself in a place- and time- that she never expected, and with a destiny she's never before known. Allied with the noble Pevensies, Hermione must help them on their quest to save King Caspian, or watch Narnia fall to an old evil. PP/HG & LP/HG friendship.
1. Chapter 1

When Two Different Worlds Collide

**My first cross-over fic! :D So excited!**

1) Through the Wardrobe- The _Other_ Wardrobe

"Hermione! Come on, we're missing lunch! Hermione!"

Hermione Granger scowled, blowing loose brown hair out of her face with a huff. The sixth year prefect did not slow her walk, nearly running up the marble staircase. She ignored Ron's whine, adjusting her book bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder as she started up another flight of stairs.

"Hermione! Can't this wait?"

With a small yet rough sigh, Hermione slid smoothly to a stop, making a quick turn on her heels to face her best friends. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stumbled as they stopped, unprepared for Hermione's sudden halt. Her hand automatically went to her hip, which jutted out in a manner that radiated exasperation. She looked at them skeptically.

"No, Harry, I'm afraid this can _not_ wait, unless I feel like running off to Charms without my text book."

"Do you?" Ron asked dumbly, yet hopefully.

Hermione resisted the urge to scoff, giving a small roll of her eyes. She pivoted back around, resuming her rushing up the stairs. She heard exhausted groans from behind her before the sound of the boy's hurried footsteps returned behind her.

"I still don't see why we had to come," Ron complained. "Charms isn't until _after _lunch!"

"Because, Ronald," Hermione said for what felt like the hundreth time, "you two can help me find my book. It'll be faster with all three of us looking, and that way I'll have my book and we can all get to lunch in less time."

"How did you lose your book anyway?" Harry asked. "You're Hermione Granger, and as I recall, Hermione Granger does not lose books, especially not text books."

She let out a low growl, a little irritated by Harry's playful yet somewhat true jab. She stopped on the staircase as it began to move, slowly rotating toward the staircase for the sixth floor.

"It's not like I _meant_ to lose it, Harry," she said. "I had other things on my mind and happened to leave it somewhere, and for the life of me, I simply could not remember where."

She vaguely heard Ron mutter something about "other things" and "bloody McLaggen" angrily under his breath, but chose to ignore the stupid accusation as the staircase finally stopped at the sixth floor steps. They walked on.

"Well why are we going to the Room of Requirement anyway?" Harry asked curiously. "Why would your book possibly be _there_?"

"Don't you remember, Harry?" asked Hermione. "When you hid the Half-Blood Prince's book in the Room of Requirement, you said that the room was chock _full_ of hidden things! A huge collection of lost things, hidden things, forgotten things, and I'm positive that my Charms book is in there too!"

"Hermione, that room is huge!" said Harry. "What if we never find it?"

"Then I'll share your book during class, and later we can come back and keep looking," explained Hermione simply as they reached the seventh floor.

"Why don't you just buy a new one?" Ron asked. "Problem solved!"

"_Because_ Ron," said Hermione, agitated, "if my book is in the Room of Requirement, then there's absolutely no point in buying a new book when I can have my old one."

Ron sighed loudly, annoyed. Hermione resisted the urge to hit him as they reached the familiar blank stretch of wall beside the tapestry of dancing trolls. Hermione stepped forward, starting to walk in front of the wall.

_I need the room where things are lost. _Hermione thought, closing her eyes tight as she walked. _I need the room where things are lost. I need the room where things are lost._

As she completed her last stride she opened her eyes, facing the greyed, wrought-iron door that had suddenly appeared from nowhere. For a moment they all stared at the door, as if waiting for it to do backflips.

Hermione, with a sudden, awful thought, peeked out of the corner of her eye at Harry, whose face was set like stone, but a haunted look reigned in his eyes, yet it probably wouldn't have been noticable to anyone else, anyone who didn't know him as well as she did. Ron seemed to be eying Harry a bit warily as well, but Harry didn't seem to notice, watching the door with obvious hesitation.

"Well..." spoke Hermione finally, softly. She nodded her head at the door. "Come on, then."

She reached forward, grasping the door handle and slowly pulling it open. She stepped inside, Harry and Ron trailing after her before the door shut with a gentle click.

Hermione's breath flew out in a whoosh; the room was enormus, and like Harry had said, quite incredible. She was awed by the cathedral-sized room, with its high windows sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what she realized must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by tetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover half-heartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe. She breathed deeply, taking it all in.

"Look at this place!" Ron exclaimed, half amazed and half ticked. "It's huge! How are we ever going to find your book in this bloody mess!"

"Well," said Hermione softly, calculating, "I suppose... we'll just have to look."

"We'll have to _look_?" Ron nearly shouted. "That's your big plan? Just to look!"

"Yes, maybe it is, Ronald!" She hissed back, narrowing her eyes. "We may have to 'just look.' Anyway, it looks like the room, as full as it may be, is somewhat organized."

"So?" Harry asked, not unkindly.

"_So_," Hermione said, "if we look in places where there are lost, hidden, or forgotten books it shouldn't be too hard to find _my _book." She pointed at a stack of books a few feet away, made up by old books and new books, big and large, thick and thin, roughly the height of Hermione's small form. "My book was just lost recently, so I imagine it can't be buired too far in any of these stacks. We'll each look through stacks in different parts of the room until we find it." She ignored Ron's groan, setting her bag down near the door.

"I'll go this way," she said, pointing down a small pathway on the right. "Harry, you go through that corner-" she pointed at the far left corner, "- and Ron take that one." She pointed at the opposite corner. "We'll meet back here in half an hour for lunch."

Ron grumbled something Hermione didn't catch under his breath, but followed Harry away to the back corners of the Room of Requirement. Hermione ran her fingers exhaustedly through her hair, sighed, and then turned down her chosen path to her chosen corner of the room, leaving their school bags behind.

Twenty-five minutes later, Hermione was getting frustrated. She had searched through approximately forty-two decently sized stacks in her corner of the room, but still had not found anything. She had hoped that this task, as large as it might have seemed, would not have been as difficult as it was becoming. Now, the task felt almost dauntingly impossible; she had hoped to have her own book back before class, but she knew it was quite clear she would be sharing Harry's book for a day... or two... or _forever_ depending on how many books were actually in this stupid room!

At two minutes to their rendezvous, Hermione stood from her cramped position on the dusty floor of her section, surrounded by piles and piles of books, letting out an angry huff and practically throwing down the text book she had been examining: a Charms book no doubt, but dated by a Miranda Wiggins in 1794. Much, _much_ too old to be hers.

She brushed herself off, muttering something unrecognizable- even to herself- under her breath, then sighed in defeat as she started back toward the front of the room, feeling slightly down-hearted. She walked slowly in an absent-minded way, eyes emptily scanning the hidden things around her as she lost herself in thought.

She had really hoped to find her book but... but she almost wondered _why _she would have to find it anyway!

_How did you lose your book anyway? __You're Hermione Granger, and as I recall, Hermione Granger does not lose books, especially not text books._

Even joking, Harry had been right.

Hermione huffed to herself distractedly, empty eyes still roaming her surroudings while her mind waged war inside her brain.

Hermione knew she wasn't the kind of person to forget a book, a school book no less. Hermione didn't even remember taking out the book recently. How could she, _Hermione Granger_, have lost something so valuable to her advancements in her own knowledge! And worse, she didn't even remember when she had used it lately! Hermione wasn't a forgetful person, not in the least, and the idea of losing this book, in full awareness of her slight conceitedness, seemed very improbable in relevance to herself. Hermione was aware she was smart, she was aware she was responsible, and she was _certainly_ aware of the interesting looks she would get in class when they learned that she, Hermione Granger, brightest witch of the age, Gryffindor Prefect, Miss Insufferable Know-It-All, didn't have her-

Hermione froze in her walk, coming to a quick stop. She gave her full brain a moment to clear and connect the dots before she whirled around, eyes landing on an old cabinet she had just passed, her heart thumping, looking for what her distracted eyes had just suddenly seen.

The cabinet was certainly old, but there was a vintage beauty about its faded deep mahogany color and beautiful design. The wood was dusty in places, but the cabinet still shined with the look of a newly polished exterior. Intricate pictures were carved into the front: a setting sun over vast waters was shown at the bottom, and at the top a birds nest was settled gently between two branches. Along the sides of the cabinet were six smaller pictures: fruits and birds and other things, some Hermione didn't recognize. And there, in the middle of all of the pictures, was carved a beautiful tree with outstretched branches. Leaves covered almost every inch of them, making them lush and full. The entirety of the tree rested upon thick grass. Birds rested among the tree, looking content and graceful. Next to the picture was a thin black knob, small enough to turn between Hermione's first three fingers. It looked almost like the end of a key.

But Hermione was not currently taking her time to admire the cabinet, as beautiful as it was; in fact, she had only spared a less than quick glance at it, for the cabinet's ancient door was propped open, and there at the bottom, holding the door open, the object holding Hermione's attention, just happened to be a very familiar looking Charms text book.

Slowly, with cocked eyebrows and confused eyes, Hermione reached out, pulling the door open wide. She bent down, picking up the book. A quick look inside the cover confirmed it to be hers. She narrowed her eyes curiously, then instinctively looked around the empty area, as if she were expecting someone to pop out and tell her that they had been the one to place the book inside the cabinet. With no luck, as the area around her remained empty and silent, she looked back at her book, tapping her fingers on the cover distractedly as her mind fought for a reasonable explaination as to why her lost Charms book (which was still odd in itself) was shoved between this cabinet's door and its hinge. With no yet explaination, Hermione shook her head, pushing away the headache threatening to invade her senses, then looked up from the book to shut the door.

That's when it caught her eye.

The inside of the cabinet was filled with coats, coat after coat after coat. Furry coats, leather coats, even a rugged pancho hung squished between another coat and the wooden wall at the end of the rack, but Hermione was focused on the small sliver of light that was squeaming between a thick black trench coat and a bright yellow rain jacket. It was a bright yellow color, reminding her of the sun on a cloudless day. Her eyebrows cocking again, her Charms book pressed almost protectively against her chest, she leaned in, peering at the light. She suddenly cocked her head in confusion, leaning toward the light. She was... she was _positive_ she had just heard something. She leaned closer, pressing her ear against the opening between the coats. Was that... wind she was hearing?

She jumped back as a huge gust of air surged through the cabinet, flying out at her, ruffling her hair and clothes. Her heart lept, her eyes wide, and she could not deny it this time: she had definitely felt that air blow at her, there was evidence to be seen.

And just now she had seen something shining behind the coats.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, staring at the light shining between the coats. She gulped, staring oddly inside the cabinet.

"Hermione!"

Hermione jumped again as Harry's call reached her ears. He, and most likely Ron, must have reached the meeting point already, but Hermione was still so far in her area that his call was soft and quiet. It had still frightened her in her jumpy state.

"Hermione, are you ready?" Harry called.

"It's been half an hour, come on!" Ron called, exasperation in his tone. "Hermione!"

Tearing her eyes away from the mysterious cabinet, she looked up the pathway, realizing she must have stood in front of this cabinet longer than she had thought. With a last, seemingly final look at the cabinet, she slowly started down the path with her book, her mind muddled.

She froze when the vague sound of a horse's neigh floated through the cabinet's door.

She looked back, staring incredulously at the cabinet. Every bit of common sense inside of her was screaming crazily, and unless she was going crazy herself (which she really, really, _really_ hoped she wasn't), there was definitely something strange going on here.

Hermione stood there for an elongated moment, staring at the cabinet with wariness. It felt like months had passed by when she finally, slowly, turned back around, walking carefully back toward the cabinet door. With her gut screaming warning after warning at her, and Harry's and Ron's calls fading into the background, she stopped in front of the cabinet, eyes fixed back on the light still shining through the coats.

She made up her mind.

With her unsure decision lingering in her head, Hermione gently set her book down, resting it on the floor next to the cabinet. She took a deep breath, and then, grabbing the insides of the wood to help her in, gently stepped inside the cabinet.

The polished wood door slowly shut behind her with a click.

**:| Hmmmmm...**

**Anyway, I hope the first chapter turned out well :)) I'm really looking forward to this story, and I hope you stay with me on Hermione's quite... **_**interesting**_** adventure. If this story gets some attention and people like it enough, I'll definitely make sure to continue it :)**

**Don't forget to review!**


	2. Chapter 2

When Two Different Worlds Collide

**So. How's that for a seven month hiatus?**

**Yeah. I thought so.**

**I know that this probably won't really make up for it, but I really am sorry about the long wait. I'm sure most if not all of you have been to high school, and I know that if you have you know exactly what it's like to balance a lot of stress at one time. Between my other stories that were here first and this one, even though I love all of these ideas, I truly do, I needed to put one aside to help balance out my life a little better, and well, here we are seven months later.**

**Anyway, I'm just going to say that today I finally sucked it up, said "screw it", ignored my research paper _again _(completely unwritten and due in six days, I might add), printed out seven maps of Narnia off Google, and plotted out the entirity of the story, including notes and diagrams of exactly how the story was going to go. A good day? I'd like to think so.**

**In any case, it's been seven months, so I won't hold you off any longer. I hope you enjoy, and please remember to review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own mind.**

2) Toto, I've Got a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Hermione's first instinctive reaction was to jerk the door open, grab her book, and run as fast as she could. She'd started to find out that when strange things- well, strange in _her _case- happened, they normally meant trouble, and trouble meant that she'd be risking her neck yet again. Here, standing in a strange wardrobe in the dark with Lord knows what on the other side of the long rack of coats she was nearly face-first in, happened to be one of those moments where it was painfully clear that she had put her foot much, much too deep into something to just pull it out and walk away.

She had some quite _colorful _thoughts for whoever decided to keep putting her in these situations.

And so, Hermione did not bolt precariously out of the wardrobe and scramble back to Harry and Ron with an inquiring cloud of perpetual doom hanging over her head. Nor did she begin to scream like a frightened Lavender whose mascara had run and made her look like she hadn't slept in, well, _ever_.

Instead, she swallowed down her urge to begin hyperventilating, ignored the warning sirens screaming in her head, and reached out in the shady wardrobe to push the coats aside.

As she moved through the first row of furry coats, leather jackets, and musty ponchos, Hermione wondered if she had been some sort of cat in a past life; she had no doubt this curiousity would be the demise of her one day.

Contary to the flash of light Hermione had witnessed from outside the wardrobe, the wardrobe grew darker before it ever started to get lighter as she moved slowly forward, past two, three, four racks of coats, mostly long and adorned with soft fur. Hermione continued to advance, heart racing, always expecting to feel the woodwork of the back of the closet against her fingertips, reassuring her that she must just have gone momentarily mad when she had seen the light from behind the coats and heard the horse's whinny with her own ears, but as she continued to shuffle forward, she felt nothing but more and more coats.

Five racks, six, seven. Still no wood.

_Relax, Granger, _she attempted as she moved through the eighth rack. _This is _not_ abnormal and you know it. It's simply an Extension Charm, just an Extension Charm. Just like the Weasleys' tent at the Quidditch Cup, remember? Yes, just an extension charm..._

Nine, ten, eleven.

As Hermione passed through the twelfth rack, beginning to think that the closet was endless and that if she didn't turn back she would wander inside this wardrobe forever, Hermione felt herself step onto something soft. It was most definitely _not _wood, and she came to a quick halt, peering down at her feet with all her might in the shadowy wardrobe, trying to decipher what this strange substance might be. Still quite unable to see very well in the darkness, Hermione carefully stooped down, stretching out her fingers to feel the ground. She ran her fingers along the floor, detecting something rubbery and a bit prickly underneath her hand; it felt like _grass._

She frowned to herself, her mind whirling. _This_ was new.

Standing again, Hermione reached out once more, continuing to push on with a new sense of mixed excitement and nervousness. She passed by four more racks, grass still squishing beneath her feet as she moved on, and quite suddenly found that she was no longer touching soft, furry coats, but was rubbing against rough and bristly commodities, and as she grasped some of the stuff found that it felt exactly like the leaves and branches of needly trees.

"What in the..."

But Hermione never knew what it was in as she suddenly realized, with a jolt of exhilaration, that there behind a few thick clumps of the bristly somethings was a sliver of light, shining weakly into the wardrobe. Adrenaline high, Hermione shoved forward, pushing the bushes of bristles aside as she hurried on, eyes locked on the crack that the light was radiating through, slowly growing bigger as she quickly advanced. A push here, another shove, one last nudge-

-Hermione emerged into the middle of a ripe green forest.

There was near-complete silence as Hermione stared, awed and dumbstruck, at the wood around her. The quiet was only broken by the sound of the wind, whistling through the clearing in which she was standing. The opening was bordered by emerald trees with gigantic, thick trunks, leaves shimmering and dripping with early morning dew. The air smelt rich and clean; somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped, and the breeze carried the sound softly to Hermione's ears, teasing her bushy curls as it passed on. The sun shone brightly in the sky above, illuminating the clear blue sky. The forest lay still, as if frozen in place.

Hermione gawked, trying to think through the flabbergasted haze clouding her mind. Her jaw worked soundlessly, seemingly unable to fully close from the sheer wonder of everything she was taking in. She quivered with trepidation, wringing her hands anxiously. Forcibly closing her mouth, Hermione gulped and, with another quick, hawklike scan of the area around her, shuffled forward, eyes still darting everywhere at once.

The forest was beautiful, she had no debates or denials to that extent, but what was it doing crammed into a strange little (well, not so little after all) wardrobe hidden away in the Room of Requirement? Was she even still inside the wardrobe, or was the forest it's own place and the wardrobe just some kind of... _teleportation _device, used to move back and forth between this forest and the world behind? It certainly wouldn't hace occured to her to have found an entire other world in the back of a closet.

_But, now, who would need something like that?_ Hermione asked herself mutely as she walked forward through the wood, eying the forest around her nervously as she proceeded; a protective measure that was now seemingly carved into her brain. _Whatever person would need to come to this forest, and why? Surely someone must have _some _sort of reason for... for... _dimensionalizing _that wardrobe to come here? What's so important about this place?_

Questions continue to flutter through Hermione's head as she walked on, brown eyes roaving cautiously over every tree, every rock, every patch flower patch and newly blossomed apple hanging from the trees. After about a ten minute walk, Hermione saw another light ahead, and as she moved briskly toward it, she realized that the light was coming from a tall, black lamp-post, standing dead center in the middle of the strange wood. Vines were twisted around the lamp's pole, reaching up, up, up to the bottom of the lantern, stopping short of the glowing light inside the glass.

She stopped, wondering why on earth there was a strange lamp-post in the middle of this very strange forest at the back of the very strange wardrobe. It made such little sense to her, it was so incredibly odd!, and she had seen many, _many _odd things living in the Wizard world. This, however, made the top ten in the number of strange things she had seen in her life.

Three of those things, including this, had happened to her in the last hour. She couldn't say that wasn't a bit unsettling.

Hermione found that her fingers were trembling slightly as she reached out to touch the lamp-post, feeling the sun-warmed, dark metal. Tenderly, she ran her fingers down the post, feeling the metal against her skin. An peculiar thrill (but then again, what wasn't peculiar about anything today?) coursed through her veins, and it took her a second to remember how to breathe as she realized that the lamp-post was even more abnormal than she had thought. She had felt magic come off of the post as she touched it, and very strong magic at that. Her fingers were tingling as she pulled away, eyes still locked on the glowing golden light perched at the top of the post. She suddenly felt at ease in this place, as if the post had come to life and force-fed her a Calming Draught.

She suddenly wondered if she wasn't really mad after all.

A sudden noise sounded from the forest, breaking the overwhelming silence that had existed the entirety of Hermione's visit, and Hermione jumped as if she had been shot. Hand over her heart, wand already in the other, Hermione whipped around, senses on high alert as her eyes focused on a rustling bush just a couple of yards away. Hermione held her breath as the bush quivered, shuddered, and then gave a great trembling shake as something small and furry tumbled clumsily out of it, rolled, and landed haphazardly at her feet.

Hermione blinked as the squirrel at her feet lifted it's tiny head, shook it furiously, and then looked up at her with giant blue eyes, blinking back. They stayed there for a long moment, girl and squirrel, staring queerly at each other, and then, quite abruptly, the squirrel sat up, leaned back on his haunches, craned his head up to look at her, and, to Hermione's shock, opened his mouth and said in perfect English:

"I'm terribly sorry about that. I'm quite the cumbersome fellow."

Hermione gaped at the squirrel, stunned, wand dangling limply from her hand as she watched the squirrel comfortably lean back, dusting dirt and grass off of his fur. The squirrel was _talking._ The utterly normal-looking squirrel was _talking_ And he was speaking fluent, completely understandable English.

The amount of insane things she had witnessed that day was growing unnervingly high.

"I'm sorry to be quite forward, but it really is a bit rude to goggle at me in such a manner."

Hermione blinked furiously at the squirrel, who was looking inquisitively at her, but not unkindly. Her lips seemed to shut of their own accord at his benign reprimand, but she continued to stare at him, trying to keep the logical part of her brain from fizzing out.

Maybe she really was going squirrelly, she thought. She was still aware enough to note the poor choice of wording.

"I haven't seen many of _your_ kind in this part of the Lantern Waste," inquired the squirrel, breaking her from her slow-moving reverie. "From what I've been told, humans rarely come here if ever at all, hmm? Pray tell, my girl, however did you come by this place?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, trying to ignore the little voice in her head that kept reminding her that she was nuts- no pun intended- to be answering to the talking squirrel, but it only seemed to half work because the strangled noise that came of her mouth in place of the words she was trying to say weren't understandable in the slightest. The squirrel actually cocked an eyebrow, looking warily at her.

"Are you all right, child?" He asked. "Are you injured, perhaps, or incapable of decipherable speech?" This seemed to finally spur Hermione's brain back into gear.

"Oh," she croaked weakly. "Oh no, I'm sorry. I... I don't know what came over me."

"You're sure, Miss?"

"Oh yes, yes, quite positive," she answered quickly, her voice still hoarse.

"Splendid!" The squirrel said brightly, missing the scratchy undertones in her words. "Simply splendid! You had me a bit frightened there for a moment, you know."

Hermione just nodded feebly, humming an answer.

"Anywho," said the squirrel, now looking properly whimsical, "again I simply _must_ ask, Daughter of Eve, however did you come by this part of the Western Woods?"

"Western Woods?"

"Yes, Miss, the Western Woods," said the squirrel, smiling. "The pride and joy of the Lantern Waste! North of the Telmar River, south of the Tumnus Turnabout, and the humble western-most border of Narnia!"

"Narnia?" Hermione asked, grasping onto the information like a lifeline. "You said this is Narnia?"

"Why yes child, Narnia!" exclaimed the squirrel, staring at her with suprise, and even exasperation. "You strange girl, you act as though you haven't heard of it!"

"Well, I wouldn't I suppose, except I never _have_ heard of it," Hermione supplied.

The squirrel spluttered, looking wide-eyed at her.

"What do you mean you've never heard of Narnia?" the squirrel cried, looking flabbergasted. "You're here right now! Haven't heard of Narnia- how is that even possible?"

"I'm- I'm terribly sorry!" Hermione stammered quickly. "It's just that I've only come here for the first time! I found this place just a short time ago!"

"Whatever do you mean, miss?" asked the squirrel curiously, blinking. "First time? How is that possible? The outerlands are uninhabitable, and from what I've been told, connections with Ettinsmor and Archenland have been terribly scarce as of late. Even communications with the island nations have been meager at most. There have been no reported immigration parties in over a month now!"

"But I've never been to any of those places either!" Hermione babbled skittishly, wringing her hands again. "I'm terribly sorry, but I've never been to anywhere here at all! I didn't even know I was coming to Narnia, I didn't even know that it existed, I was just examining the wardrobe in the Room of Requirement, and I saw the sun from your end, and, well, I ended up here by accident..."

"Wardrobe?" the squirrel said, looking strangely at her. "Room of Requirement? Child, what _are _these strange nonsensicalities you're babbling about?"

"No, no, it's not nonsense, I swear!" Hermione cried, looking at him. "I'm from London, from Hogwarts! I just... my book... an-and the Wardrobe... and the Room... and the coats, there were all these coats... and then I was here-"

The squirrel was giving her a multitude of odd looks now, and suddenly Hermione realized how crazy she must've sounded, talking about strange places like London and Hogwarts to a talking squirrel that had _obviously _never been inside a magic wardrobe before in his life, and had _obviously_ never known anything but Narnia, and _obviously_ must've thought she was mad or incredibly stupid or lame for all her ramblings.

"Oh, oh, but I can prove it!" Hermione cried. "I can, I can prove it! Look, it's just this way, I can show it to-"

Hermione found herself sharply interrupted as, out of nowhere, a horse's whicker cut through the air, diluting the rest of her words. Quiet fell between the two of them as they listened carefully. Just moments later, another whinny echoed through the tree, answering the other's call. Another long moment of silence, and then, suddenly, Hermione heard a loud, collective thumping noise.

The squirrel suddenly made a choking noise, eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. His body was rigid, frozen in what looked like... like _fear. _Total fear.

"They're coming," he whispered awfully, beginning to tremble. "Dear Aslan, _they're coming back_.

"Who?" Hermione asked immediately, feeling a dreadful foreboding creeping up her spine. "Who's coming? What's happening?"

"Telmarines," the squirrel croaked. "Telmarines. In the Woods. They're coming. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no..."

Terror seeped into Hermione's being as she looked at the pale, horrified squirrel. Distantly, she could hear the thumping get louder. She realized it was the sound of running hooves. These "Telmarines" were getting louder every second.

They were coming straight for them.

"Who are they? What's happening? Mr... Mr. Squirrel?!" Hermione cried, fueled by some awful desperation she found was slowly growing in her chest. "What's happening?!"

"No time, no time!" The squirrel suddenly exclaimed, looking mad. "Quickly! We must flee! You cannot allow them to find you!"

"Oh please!" Hermione cried, feeling terrified at the sound of hooves thudding toward them. "Who are they, what's happening, what's going on-!"

_"No!"_ The squirrel half-screamed and Hermione's fear increased tenfold. "No time, no time, no time! Quickly-" He pointed back down the way she had come from- "Go! Now! Escape! If they catch you, they'll kill you! Run, child, _run_!"

And with that, the squirrel jumped up and scampered away into the forest, disappearing in a matter of seconds.

Hermione ran.

Hermione dashed through the clearing at full speed, fueled by some unknown terror and raw _fear_. The tension in the air was thick as the trees and easily readable. The forest didn't feel like a calm, peaceful haven now, but like a cage, surround by some unknown danger lurking just beyond the underbrush, something so awful that that squirrel had looked like he would drop dead before he had bolted like a frightened deer.

Whoever- or _whatever_- these people were, they were bad. Very bad.

And Hermione was scared. Oh, she was scared now.

The sound of hooves grew louder. Hermione ran faster.

Ten minutes of walking had turned into three minutes of sprinting. Hermione was wheezing awfully but she didn't stop moving, didn't let herself fall. They were after her. They were after her. They were after her.

She could hear braying. She was almost there.

Finally, Hermione bolted around a familiar bend in the clearing and darted straight for the branches covering the entrance to the wardrobe.

_Almost there, almost there!_

Hermione shoved the tree branches aside from the wardrobe's entrance and suddenly, abruptly stopped short, gasping, her heart sinking like a bird with a clipped wing.

"Oh dear god," she said in sheer, utmost horror. "Oh dear god, _no._"

The wardrobe was gone.

And the horses- and their riders- were getting closer every second.

**Well, honestly, I don't really like the ending so mcuh :\ However, I needed the Telmarines to come, and it's also three o'clock in the morning, and while it's not exactly what I wanted the ending to look like, it's not the worst I could have done on little sleep x| I suppose some things just happen. **

**Fix it later you say? Probably yes. But for now I'm just going to leave it all nice and posted for you.**

**(PS. If anyone sees any of these: * around any words, please let me know. I didn't beta so well x{ three in the morning, GAH.)**

**I hope you liked this chapter! Please, please make sure to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

When Two Different Worlds Collide

**BIT OF A PLOT SHIFT HERE O..O *bounce* REVIEW! GAHHHH! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own mind.**

3) The Nobble of the Nobles

_Eighteen months earlier, 2306, Narnia's sixth age, third anniversary of the Narnian Rebellion._

"Is it time?"

"Patience, Rhusen. The night is nearly upon us."

"You said-"

"I am perfectly aware of what I said. I think it you who does not understand my words. When I say it is time, _it will be time."_

Rhusen shifted impatiently, eyes glued to the hooded man standing at the cliff's edge. The cloaked figure stared into the sky, emotionless, patient, watching the stars with utmost concentration. Rhusen's hand twitched toward his belt, where his sword hung, and he could imagine himself running the man through with it and carrying on the operation _now _because the wait was almost _killing _him. He knew, however, that everything would be perfectly ruined if he attempted any such thing, because while he had become quite irritable with the man in front of him, the plan would only work on his count. He was the one who knew exactly when the time would come, and if the plan worked tonight as it should- well, he wouldn't be having anymore nights out here guarding the man to deal with. The thought almost made him feel better about his position.

Almost.

"Now?"

"Stupid boy," the man spat, turning away from the stars to look at Rhusen, finally, with some impatience. "That's the eighth time you've asked. A watched pot never boils."

Rhusen rolled his eyes. "Your useless metaphors do not change that we've been here on this damned hill long enough waiting for your 'signal'. How long are we supposed to wait?" he demanded.

"Long enough," the man snapped back.

"It's been _hours!" _Rhusen said harshly, straighting up, looking threateningly down on the man. "I'm tired of waiting!"

The man scoffed, frowning. "I told Henester you weren't ready for this! You've not been trained long enough, you impatient, hot-headed, stubborn child!"

"_You hold your tongue!"_ Rhusen growled angrily.

"You may be the General's son, but you have much to learn," the man said coldly, turning back to look at the night sky. "This is a job for experienced soldiers, not _children _dogging in their father's footsteps-"

"I am a soldier!" Rhusen almost shouted, remembering himself at the last moment. "I've been trained all my life!"

"You are no soldier," the man argued, "not until you have lost all remorse for the killing of your enemies, not until you have looked a defenseless man in the eyes, wounded, unarmed and killed him in cold blood without regret or shame. A soldier does not care about honor or pride; he walks in no reproach, but in ire and bloodlust. You are no soldier. Not yet."

Rhusen scoffed, leaning back against the rock. "You are a foolish old man."

"And you a vain, greedy, cruel boy."

"Remorse wins no wars, nor does fear."

"I said nothing of fear."

"Do you fear them?" Rhusen asked him, looking out over the cliff side.

"There is only one I fear, boy."

"_Him?" _Rhusen asked, raising an eyebrow. "Father says he's been gone for two years. Vanished."

The man gave something of a dark chuckle. "He does not just go, boy. This is _his _land."

"You think he'll return," Rhusen said quietly, staring at the man.

"I _know _it. And when he does, Aslan will have no-"

The man stiffened, snapping his mouth shut as he looked up at the stars. Rhusen jumped up, blood thrumming.

"Lendolyn?"

"It is time," the man called Lendolyn whispered. "It is time."

And he looked down from the stars, his eyes filled with a new, malicious spark, to land his gaze upon the castle of Cair Paravel. Rhusen grinned as he drew his sword, shining in the moonlight.

Telmar would have its reprise.

* * *

"A-a-another d-drink, my L-l-lord?"

Peter Pevensie looked away from his brother, currently, and _loudly, _spewing something about an apple, a hag, and a donkey that was making his sisters giggle like schoolgirls, turning to meet the eyes of the servantgirl standing before his throne. She held a goblet of red wine in her slim hands, offering it out to him. She wasn't looking at him, but staring down at her trembling fingers, and her shoulders were hunched slightly, in a submissive, shy way.

"Oh! Yes, thank you very much," he said kindly, and took the cup from her outstretched hands. He flashed her a smile as she straightened to turn away, and her face flushed red with blush. She bowed hurriedly, looking terrified, and then she quickly skittered back to the kitchens of Cair Paravel, looking flustered.

Caspian gwaffed from Peter's side, and Peter looked back at his supper companions. Caspian was chuckling heartily at him; Peter pursed his lips at the man, watching the King with amusement, waiting for him to stop and explain. The sound drew the other Pevensies' attention as well, and they all peered over at the two of them, Edmund's unfinished joke left hanging in the air at Caspian's mirth.

"You _frightened _her, King Peter!" Caspian laughed heartily. "Did you see her face? Oh, the poor girl!" He dissolved once more into wholesome laughter.

"Scaring maidservants again, Peter?" Edmund joked; Peter grinned.

"Not as you do, you little prat!" Peter jibed, "jumping out at them from behind corners with red paint stained over the front of your clothes, choking and gagging! I only took some more wine from her."

"Peter!" Susan chided from Caspian's other side. "That's your third cupful!"

"Susan!" Peter groaned (not whined because High King Peter of Narnia _does not whine_, no matter what his siblings tell everyone about him). "You know I can hold my drink!"

"You're being a bad example!"

Peter gave an exaggerated pout. "Am not!" He cried playfully.

"Are so!" Susan called back, attempting to look serious, but failing as a grin stole across her face.

"Am not!"

"Are so!" Lucy joined in Susan's side of the banter, giggling.

"Am not!" Edmund fell in with Peter.

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"Are-"

"Susan, Susan," Caspian broke in, patting the queen's hand, breaking off her 'argument.' "Don't worry!" He gestured to Peter with a lazy wave of his hand. "Tonight is a night for celebration! Let him indulge a bit!"

"Hear, hear!" Peter toasted, and Edmund and Lucy laughed. Susan rolled her eyes at him, but smiled and relaxed, threading her fingers with Caspian's and taking a sip of her own, _first _drink.

Indeed it was a day to celebrate: the third anniversary of the defeat of the Telmarines by the Narnian army. Peter looked away from his sister, pressing the wine goblet to his lips as he gazed down from the royal table into the rest of the banquet hall. The hall was filled with wooden table after wooden table, and each table was set with silver dishes and cutlery, goblets of water and wines, and beautiful bouquets of colorful, sweet-smelling wildflowers. They were also covered in food, all made especially by the staff of the kitchens: golden brown turkeys and geese and hams, and potatoes mashed and boiled and fried, steamed carrots and corn, and roasted chicken. There were breads of all kinds stacked high on platters, coated in melted butter and sweet, sweet honeys. There were soups thronged with vegetables and meats, and bowls of mixed fruits from all over the land. There were beans and sausages and smoked fish, fried eggs and crumpets and cheeses, Vol-au-vents and puddings and cakes. There were pies and pastries and tarts, stuffed with fillings, and flavored fudges and sugar-coated ginger. There were even plates of Turkish delight, much to Edmund's twitchy, quite overbearing annoyance. Narnians of all kinds, lords and ladies and peasants and children, humans and animals and creatures alike, sat talking and gossiping and laughing, luxuriating in the exquisite food and unlimited drink, harmonious and utterly _happy. _The walls were lit with warm, homely torches, and ablazoned with red drapes patterned with golden lions. The polished floors sparkled and shone so clear that Peter could see himself reflected in them; he might have eaten off them if he wanted! A selection of fawns and humans played on harps and lyres and wood-carved whistles on a small platform, filling the air with wonderful music.

Peace. It was the only word Peter felt strong enough to describe the entire world, or what seemed like the entire world to him, at this very moment, happy and laughing and relaxed. No threats, no battles, no wars. No evil witches or marauding Termarines or corrupted beasts. No blood and tears and sadness (and, not or, because blood and tears and sadness were all the same when lives were lost). Right now there was just this moment, this moment where his family and his friends and his people were euphoric and safe and _alive_.

Alive was good.

"Peter? Peter? _Peter? _Hello, anyone in there?"

Peter snapped out of his thoughts, blinking, and turned to face Edmund, who looked amused.

"Hmm?"

"What was that? What were you thinking about?"

"Oh nothing, nothing."

"Figures!"

"Shut up, Edmund,"

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Lucy said cheerfully, cutting off Edmund's next retort.

"What's wonderful, Lu?" Susan asked.

"Look at everyone," Lucy said, looking merrily out at their guests. "Look at Cair Paravel! Everything's just so calm, and nice. No fighting, no deaths, no disasters. It all seems so perfect." She smiled at Caspian and her siblings. "Narnia is, well, _Narnia_ again. _Happy _again."

Peter looked at Lucy, stunned. Sometimes he wondered if Lucy was a mind-reader, or if her thoughts, her decisions, her beliefs all came from some strange wisdom, wisdom that should have been held by someone so much older than the twelve year old sitting there, eating her pudding with a childishness that he knew she would never _really _grow out of. She was much older than she was, in spirit and mind. She had seen the horrors of war, of lives lost and destruction rage. She had seen families ravaged, stripped of their homes and possessions, even each other, countless times. He wondered how many years she had gained living in a place so beautiful and magnificient, but still as war-torn as their old world. It was almost painful to watch that little girl become a survivor, because surviving and living- they're two very different things. It hurt even worse to know that she'd never even had a childhood. All that pain and loss and death... and it had only made her kind.

"It really is spectacular," Susan said, smiling gently. "The flowers, the food, the music- oh, Caspian! The entertainment!"

"Entertainment?" Edmund's ears perked up, and he turned away from his cake to look excitedly at them, cream smeared on his chin. "What kind of entertainment?"

"Ah, my young friend," Caspian grinned, "I've brought in a very _special _caravan, all the way from the Seven Isles!"

"Really?" Lucy squealed, her eyes shining, looking amazing. "The _Seven Isles? _The shows there- they're amazing! They have the best performers in all of Narnia!"

"Quite," Caspian grinned, winking at her as a servant approached his seat. Caspian leaned back and the servant whispered something into his ear; Caspian nodded, and his smile grew even wider as the servant retreated. "And I believe we're right on time!"

A great, resounding trumpet call rang through the air, and the banquet hall's doors swung open, revealing a colorful, musial convoy of acrobats, jesters, fools, jugglers, dancers, drummers, musicians, contortionists, and strong men, all dressed in overwhelming, flamboyant costumes and makeup, some outfitted with decorative masks and sweeping cloaks and vibrant tatoos eched on their bodies. One gave a loud cry, and suddenly they were jumping, leaping, dancing, twirling, spinning, flipping, and skipping right into the hall. Servants rushed out from around the room, pushing and pulling and moving tables left and right, until a path right through the center of the room had been cleared for the troupe. The audience screamed and hollered, clapping wildly as the group moved across the floor with incredible dynamics and tricks. Golden sparks shot out of a wooden circus cart being dragged behind the performers, as did colorful flags and painted streamers, whipping and twisting in the air. Loud, lifelike roars erupted from within the cart, and the audience shrieked- as two performers, twins, popped out of it, grinning madly and bowing low as the crowd clapped and cheered.

One man- short, lithe, with his face coated in white and red paint- piroquetted as the troupe danced and tricked their way to the front of the room, falling into a bow with the others following in his lead. The man was obviously the leader, and as he straightened from his low bow, Peter could see why. The man _radiated _confidence, even against the lithe dancers, large muscular men, and amazing acrobats. He seemed twice as tall as he was when he stood straight-backed, and he grinned with mischeivious, but good nature. This was the kind of man who could pick-pocket anyone in a few seconds at most; he _looked_ mysterious.

"Hail, sire," he greeted with a fantastic wave of his arm. His voice was high-pitched, but not squeaky. "Kings and Queens of Narnia. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Ghouden, sire, and this is my company, the Barons of Muil. We are honored by your gracious invitation to tonight's celebrations, and are moved by the personal request of our camaraderie for tonight's presentation."

"You are most welcome here, Sir Ghouden," Caspian addressed him, standing. "We have awaited your arrival with much anticipation, as well as excitement. I trust your journey went unhindered?"

"So it did, my lord," Ghouden responded with another flourishing bow. "Calm winds, smooth waters- most desirable conditions."

"Excellent!" Caspian agreed, smiling. "Now, I believe the audience is quite keen on your performance! Let us keep them no longer!" Caspian sat and gave the ringleader a friendly wave. "So please! Go on! Indulge us!"

"As you say, my lord!" The man exclaimed, and whipped around to face his companions. "Alright you lot! Dames first!"

The group jumped into action, the audience breaking into loud applause as they did so. The performers grabbed the cart, pulling it from the center of the room, leaving only a group of six or seven dancers in the limelight. The musicians, armed with flutes and lyres and drums, lept onto a nearby table, and with a few taps of their feet on the polished wood, they struck up a quick, merry tune. The women began to jump and dance and spin, hair flying and skirts whirling.

Peter clapped in time to the music alongside his subjects, watching the dancers as they twisted and turned and twirled, kicking and throwing their arms in the air. They moved furiously and rhythmically, comfortable and flexible in their long skirts and hair. They moved in formations and circles and switched back and forth in places; they lept and cartwheeled and flipped; they danced apart and together, throwing and catching each other as if they were on highwires. The audience screamed when they finished, hair still perfect, makeup pristine, smiling confidently. Peter grinned at Lucy's loud cries of approval.

The contortionists reminded Peter of very used chewing gum. They bent in ways that made Peter want to stare and look away from them at the same time. They bent over into backbends, put their legs behing their heads and crossed their ankles, and walked on their hands, their legs crossing and bending and twisting as they did so. One woman, quite tall and thin as a stick, twisted her body in so many ways that Susan groaned, looking sick and intrigued all at once. Edmund just looked amazed, staring with eyes as big as dinner plates.

The strong men took their place after them, three in all. Their act was incredbile, beginning with one lifting a squealing Lucy and giggling Susan both on one arm, and ending with each benching wooden tables in their hands (one had four stacked in just his left hand!). In a silly, barmy way, Peter found himself a bit _envious _of the men as they put the stacks of tables down without so much as a clack of the wood against the cobblestones.

Then came the jugglers and the acrobats, the fortune tellers and the gymnasts, the fools and the jesters, the plate spinners and the fire eaters, the knife-throwers and the baton-twirlers, the tricky twins who could imitate noises from the curious sniff of a rabbit to the rush of a waterfall. They all put on magnificent and creative acts, stunning the crowd. Peter was highly impressed, as was the rest of his company; Lucy's face was beginning to twitch from continuous smiling, Edmund's mouth had fallen open a long time ago and remained that way so he could whoop every time an act did something particualary incredible, and Susan and Caspian both looked downright pleased, whether with the acts or with themselves, Peter didn't know.

Ghouden retook center-stage as the twins carwheeled away, to much applause, and bowed a third time to the five royals, waiting for the audience to fall silent before speaking.

"I have saved my best at for last, my lord," said Ghouden, speaking lowly, his grin mysterious. "Pryle, Tryst."

The twins, grinning wickedly, ran around the room, putting out all but two of the hanging torches, dimming the light in the room significantly. Glouden smirked.

"I present to you, lords, ladies, Narnians of all kinds-"

He moved aside, gesturing at the place he had just been.

"- Twyghan the Mysterious."

There was a blast of thick, gray smoke and, as Ghouden retreated back to his caravan, the smoke cleared, revealing a tall, dark haired man, dressed all in black. A matching cape hung from his shoulders, and his dark mustache seemed to bristle with energy.

"My lord," the man said in a deep voice, bowing dramatically. "I am Twyghan, the wizard. Tonight's performance is mysterious, magnificient, and _unusual."_

He put heavy inference on the whispered word; the crowd was completely silent, breathing slow and quiet.

"The trick, attempted by many, accomplished by few, has illuded wizards for centuries. The act has gone wrong, or not at all, or perhaps too far. For years and years, no wizard dared perform the trick in fear of the consequences. I stand before you today, however, after traveling miles of ocean and acres of land to stand before you, and I say- I have _perfected _this trick. And I am here... to bring it to _you."_

Twyghan gestured at his companions and one of the strong men stepped forward, pulling the cart back to the center of the room. The wheel's squeaking was the only sound in the hall, as if even breathing now would break the entire illusion.

The man stopped the cart behind the wizard, and then he reached inside it, through its red curtains, and out of it he pulled a long box. Everyone sucked in a breath as he set it upright because there had been _absolutely _no possible way to have fit the box into the cart, and as the strong man wheeled the cart away, everyone's eyes were popping, watching the mysterious wizard as he ran his hand along the edge of the lengthy box. He turned back to look at them.

"This trick requires a volunteer," Twyghan went on, observing them with glittering black eyes. "A volunteer with outstanding courage, bravery, and a strong, ambient heart."

Everyone waited with baited breath as he looked over the crowd, eyeing the faces of those watching him with great anticipation. He fingered his chin, tapping his nose with his index finger, thinking as he searched all of them. He hummed lowly.

"What about..."

And then he was turning away from the crowd, and Peter barely registered he was looking at them before-

"...what about _you, _Lord Caspian?"

The room was deathly still as the question hung in the air before Caspian's stupified face. Everyone really _was _holding their breaths now as they waited for something, anything, to be said.

"Me?" Caspian asked after a long moment, looking carefully at the man.

"Of course, my lord," said Twyghan, seemingly unaware of the almost... tenseness of the situation. "The trick is safe, perfectly harmless, and it is a perfect demonstration of your legendary bravery."

Caspian looked oddly at the box, as if he were wagering his bets against the wood.

"Go on, Caspian!" Edmund said excitedly, also seemingly unaware of Caspian's taken-abackness. "It's just a magic trick! Go on, do it!"

"Do you accept my challenge, my lord?" the wizard asked patiently.

There was another moment of long silence, and then Caspian stood, looking gallant and set. "Of course."

The crowd applauded as Caspian undid his cloak, handing it to his manservant. He stepped away from and around the table, and approached the magician, who nodded respectfully at him. As the audience settled, watching, the magician reached over and pulled open the door of the box.

"After you, my lord," he said, bowing.

Caspian, still looking a bit uneasy, straightened his back, nodded at everyone with a smile (which almost looked quite _forced _to Peter), and stepped into the wooden box. The wizard gave him a comforting nod and then, with a returning smile that _really _looked forced, the wizard shut the door and slid the golden latch into place, locking Caspian inside.

"And now: ladies and gentlemen, humans and creatures, lords and ladies of Narnia," the wizard said dramatically, his whole being excited now, "The moment you have all been waiting for. I present to you my famous, amazing trick-"

Twyghan threw up his arm in a magnificient gesture.

"-The Disappearing Act."

The crowd silently oohed, staring at the man. With a whip of his cape, he turned to the box then, his eyes closed, and pressed his hands against the wood. He began to mutter:

"_Let the object of objection become but a dream-"_

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, breaths bated, eyes wide on the man as he finished:

"_-for I cause the seen to beome the unseen."_

The box gave a great shudder, and then all was still. The man's eyes flashed open and then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he snapped open the latch, and the door swung open.

Caspian was gone.

Everyone broke into applause, laughing and cheering. Twyghan bowed, reaching into the box and feeling its depths to prove its emptiness. Edmund hooted in approval, and Lucy and Susan clapped politely, the former looking amazed and the latter looking quite impressed. Peter clapped in appriciation, watching as the man bowed again and again, walking back and forth to show off.

As the crowd quieted, he returned to the box, before turning to speak again.

"This, my dear Narnians, is where I have perfected the most difficult part of the trick. As I spoke before, the most difficult part of the trick is this: the reappearance of the object. However!" He flourished his cape grandly. "Here, tonight, I will show you just how great of a wizard I am!"

Silence fell again as Twyghan shut the box once more, locking the golden latch, and leaning against it on the palms of his hands. He spoke in his strange mutter once more:

"_Let the object of objection return to me-"_

The box shook violently. He went on:

"_- for I cause the unseen to again be reseen."_

The man did not move this time as the spell finished, remaining leaned against the box's opening as something inside continued to shudder, the box rocking slightly back and forth. Everyone stared at him as he lay against it for a long moment, quiet, still.

After the long, tense moment, he slowly looked back, turning to stare at the royal table with a strange look on his face. Peter felt it then: a strange, very, very _uneasy _feeling in the pit of his stomach. He stared back at the man, who was still watching them _with that look on his face. _

Something was wrong.

"How great a magician I am," the wizard muttered. "How great a magician I am, my Kings and Queens."

Something was very wrong.

"How great we all are," his voice dropped to a whisper, "to have snuck in right under your very noses."

_Something was wrong._

The man stood straight, unbolting the latch, and then time seemed to slow as he looked at them once more, eyes flashing, and lips curled up in an evil, twisted smile.

"Here is your_ trick."_

The box flew open and chaos erupted.

The hall flew into pandemonium as fully-armoured, sword-wielding soldiers jumped from the box, howling and shouting viciously, _all grinning_. The audience shrieked and screamed, and then everyone was running. Seats and tables overturned with great crashes as the Narnians attempted to flee from the malicious soldiers, citizens tripping and falling and bumping into one another as they screeched wildly, trying to find the exit as the soldiers came toward them, eyes filled with wickedness. Narnians fled the room like hunted rabbits as the soldiers began to kill, one by one, striking down the slow or the fallen.

Peter lept out of his seat, jumping over the table and ripping his sword from his scabbard. He ran forward, slicing out at a soldier, who parried the king in the nick of time. Peter heard Susan let out a war cry, and then the thump as one of her arrows embedded itself in someone's body. Edmund was near him, fighting off another solider, and in the corner of his vision, Peter could see Lucy, throwing silverware with decisive accuracy at the attackers. He hear another loud cry and then there were Narnian fighters around him, battling against the small militia that had infiltrated their castle. Peter estimated at least thirty, if not more, had come out of that box.

Peter, however, hadn't proper time to count as the man he was fighting slashed out at him, slicing across his cheek. Peter moved back, parrying the next slice with a quick hit of blade on blade. He threw himself forward, slashing furiously and quickly, ignoring his gasping lungs and burning muscles. The man deflected Peter's strikes well, but the look on his face was changing, the malicious fun falling from his face to be replaced by a deadly seriousness as he fought off the king with all that he had. They traded parries, blows, thrusts, feints, time seeming to pass without any reason. Time could have slowed or sped for all Peter knew; all he felt was the burn of the fight and the weight of his sword, swinging and ducking and fighting, his pulse racing, heart pounding. Anger and power fueled his movements, his blade flashing and ringing as it collided with the other sword fiercely.

The man seemed to know his every move, seemed to know exactly how to fight him off, where to throw his sword, how Peter would move or feint or attack. He was flexible, lithe, tall and tan-skinned and dark-headed, just as the performers had been and _Peter hadn't seen it because he was so stupid. _It was right there in front of him.

The Telmarine- _the Telmarines, the Telmarines!- _blocked his next two thrusts, and feinted, before leaping forward, and suddenly Peter saw the opening. Time slowed as he found it, as the man left his torso unprotected while he lept at Peter, ready to thrust his sword into the king's chest, and there was a split second where Peter waited-

_Slam!_

The man flew back as Peter's foot collided with his chest- _hard. _He fell back, tripping over the body of the Narnian he had killed when Peter had attacked, and rammed, head first, into the wooden box behind him. He landed with a crash on the floor, as did the box, falling and breaking into splinters. He looked dazed, his sword fallen away from his hand.

Peter jumped forward, standing over the man, and he thrust the point of his sword at the soldier's neck, pinning him to the ground. His eyes a bit more focused, the man looked up at him, his face bilious.

"Who are you?" Peter demanded loudly. "What are you doing here? What have you done with Caspian?"

The man grinned up at him malevolently, eyes and teeth flashing. "It's too late now, High King _Peter!"_ He spit out the last word. "Caspian's gone! Telmar will have it's revenge!"

Peter drew his sword up, ready to stab-

_CLANG!_

Peter's head exploded with pain, and lights burst in his vision. He felt himself falling back, slamming into the ground without mercy. His sword flew from his hand, clattering away across the stone floor. Something warm and sticky was running down the back of his neck, down his face, and black spots were appearing in his vision. His vision was going hazy, fuzzing as his head throbbed and ached terribly. For a long moment he couldn't think straight, he felt confused and disoriented as to why he was on his side on the floor, sword gone, and who that man was that was stumbling up, grinning wickedly at him, walking toward him, his head was killing him-

"The Mighty King Peter," said the Telmarine, smirking at him. "The brave, the just, the powerful."

He bent down as he spoke, tilting his head sideways to look Peter in the eyes.

"Let's see how powerful you are without your king."

"I've got him! I've got him!" Someone screamed from beyond the man, and they both turned to look, Peter craning his head with the utmost pain to look at the soldier standing in the doorway of the banquet hall. He was holding something black and white- Peter couldn't make it out, his vision was getting darker- and whatever it was seemed to delight the rest of the group. They shrieked in pleasure when they saw it dangling from his hands, if only Peter knew what it was-"

"Come on, men! Move out!" Another man shouted. "Let's move!"

"Goodbye, Peter Pevensie," the man before him spat at him, sneering victoriously. "I have no doubt we shall see each other again _very soon."_

And then they were running, running, gone, gone, gone, and Peter's vision was hazing again, fogging until he couldn'tt see anything at all. He heard people yelling, someone was crying, and then he heard Lucy screaming, screaming something about a _Trufflehunter! Trufflehunter! _and someone shouting his name, and then the pain overwhelmed him.

Peter's vision went black and everything disappeared.

_Caspian was gone._

**I'm sorry, I meant for this chapter to be up a couple of days ago, but dear lord, it's twice as long as last week's chapter! *awe* I didn't think I would get that far! :)**

**Anyway, it would have been up even sooner, I'm sorry, but my computer broke a few weeks ago and I only recently got it fixed- again. -_- Ahem. STUPID HARDDRIVE CRAP.**

**Anyway, I don't really feel like saying much else, so please make sure to review! Hours to finish, seconds to tell me you LUUVEED EEETT!**


End file.
